Amara sat cross-legged on her bed, absentmindedly stirring the cold pasta she had brought back from the campus cafe.
Her appetite had vanished hours ago, but the motions kept her hands busy, distracting her from the tangle of thoughts swirling in her mind.
The door banged open, jolting her. Nia stumbled in, out of breath and disheveled, her bag slipping off her shoulder.
"You will not believe what just happened!" Nia announced, collapsing dramatically onto her bed.
Amara glanced up, forcing a small smile. "What now?"
"I totally crashed into this guy on a bicycle," Nia said, waving her hands animatedly. "Like, books flying, me almost face-planting — it was a disaster!"
Despite everything weighing on her chest, Amara felt a flicker of amusement. "Seriously?"
"Seriously!" Nia exclaimed. "He looked older, kind of like a scholar or a super-serious senior. Definitely not a student like us."
Amara chuckled softly, setting her fork down. "And let me guess — he was absolutely charmed by your grace?"
Nia pulled a face. "More like he thought I was a walking public hazard. I tried to apologize, but he just gave me this weird half-nod and zoomed off. Zero impressed."
Amara gave a real, quiet laugh, the tension in her chest loosening a little. She didn't tell Nia about the uncomfortable encounter with Kieran, or how her heart still hadn't stopped pounding from earlier.
Some things were easier to carry alone, at least for now.
"Well," Amara said lightly, "at least you're not famous for taking down professors in training."
"Yeah, yeah," Nia groaned, burying her face in a pillow. "Tomorrow, the headline will be: Clumsy Freshman Flattens Campus Scholar."
The two girls laughed together — a brief, much-needed escape from everything else — and for the first time that day, Amara felt a tiny bit lighter.
In next evening air clung to Amara's skin as she trudged across campus, the weight of the last few days pressing down harder than the backpack digging into her shoulders.
Her stomach growled angrily, and with a tired sigh, she turned toward the café nestled between the library and the arts building — a small, cozy place where she could at least find some pasta to fill the gnawing emptiness inside her.
She slid into a corner seat, ordered a plate of Alfredo pasta, and stabbed at it as though it had personally offended her.
Rumors.
Glares.
Whispers.
All swirling around her like a cyclone she hadn't asked for.
She twirled her fork aggressively.
Kieran Hale.
Even thinking his name made her chest twist in frustration.
Why me?
Why create an even bigger mess by lying?
Saying I was his girlfriend... just like that?
Her appetite soured. She shoved the pasta around her plate, appetite fading into a bitter lump in her throat.
No matter how much she wanted to ignore it, the damage was done.
And the worst part?
She didn't even understand why.
The next day arrived with heavy clouds rolling across the sky, painting everything in a moody gray.
Perfect, Amara thought grimly.
A backdrop for disaster.
Dragging herself to the photography club meeting for the badminton event coverage, she plastered a blank expression onto her face.
No more drama. No more attention.
Max welcomed her with his usual bright energy, explaining the event schedule while handing her a detailed map of the courts and where she could set up for the best shots.
Amara nodded numbly, her mind elsewhere.
She wanted to disappear, blend into the background like a shadow.
But fate, apparently, had other plans.
While scouting the courts for good camera angles, Amara wandered into a quieter practice area — the same one where her nightmare had started.
Just as she was adjusting her lens, she felt it — the heavy weight of someone's gaze.
She turned.
Kieran Hale.
Alone.
Watching her.
The air between them felt charged, humming with invisible static.
He took a step closer. "Can we talk?"
His voice was low, careful, almost...vulnerable.
It caught her off guard.
Amara hesitated. Every instinct screamed at her to walk away.
But curiosity, stubborn and reckless, anchored her feet in place.
"Fine," she said stiffly. "But make it quick."
The café buzzed with students cramming for exams, chattering, laughing.
Kieran chose a back corner, where the walls seemed to press in tighter, making the space feel almost private.
As they approached the table, Amara caught the glances — subtle but undeniable — from several girls nearby.
Whispers behind hands. Curious stares.
He's used to it, she reminded herself.
You're not here to care about that.
She sat down across from him, arms folded tightly across her chest.
Kieran looked infuriatingly relaxed, leaning back, long fingers drumming lightly on the table.
"Well?" Amara said sharply. "Talk."
Kieran's eyes gleamed, a flicker of amusement passing through them.
"I need a favor."
Amara narrowed her eyes. "You dragged me here for a favor?"
He didn't flinch. "I want you to be my pretend girlfriend."
The words hit her like a slap.
She blinked.
Then laughed. A short, humorless sound.
"You're insane," she said flatly.
"One year," he added, as if clarifying made it more reasonable.
Amara leaned forward, her glare sharp enough to cut glass.
"Why me?"
Kieran smiled — not a polite smile, but something laced with mischief and something deeper, unreadable.
"Because you're the first girl who got angry at me."
Amara froze.
Of all the reasons she had imagined — none of them came close to this absurdity.
"You're unbelievable," she said, voice trembling with restrained fury.
"Girls practically worship the ground you walk on, and you pick me because I got mad?"
"You're not fake," Kieran said simply. "You're... real."
Amara wanted to scream.
Was this a joke to him?
Was she just some shiny new entertainment?
Before she could unleash the words bubbling on her tongue, he spoke again — quieter this time.
"I'll help with your scholarship."
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"What?" she said, stunned.
"I know you're struggling," he said, voice even.
Amara's hands clenched into fists on her lap.
"So you did a background check?" she hissed.
"I asked around," he said casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Her blood boiled.
"I told you — it's a pretend relationship. Nothing complicated," he said, voice soft but firm.
"You don't have to act. Just... stay as you are."
Stay as you are.
Like she was a convenience store product he could pick up whenever needed.
The humiliation burned through her veins.
Amara stood so fast her chair scraped harshly against the floor.
"You think you can buy people's lives just because you're... you?"
Several heads turned toward them.
She didn't care.
Kieran remained still, only his eyes following her.
"I'm not some charity project!" Amara snapped.
She turned and stalked out of the café, pushing past the tables, the walls, the stares — until she burst into the open air outside, gasping like she had escaped something she hadn't even realized was suffocating her.
She didn't stop walking until she reached the far side of campus, near the empty soccer fields.
The gray sky overhead rumbled with distant thunder.
Her hands trembled, not from fear — but from anger.
And something worse.
Disappointment.
What did I expect?
That he would be different?
That this wasn't just another game for him?
The cold wind whipped around her as she stood there, trying to pull herself back together.
She wasn't the kind of girl who needed saving.
And she certainly wasn't the kind of girl who could be bought with scholarships or sweet promises.
Kieran Hale had chosen the wrong girl to mess with.